Caricamento in corso...

My Little Boy

MY little boy, thy laughter
   Goes to my bosom core,
And sends me yearning after
   The days that are no more.
 
Adown my cheek is stealing
   A briny tear, and I—
But let no selfish feeling
   Thy infant mirth destroy.
 
Fill not with looks so earnest,
   Those pretty eyes of thine;
A lot were thine the sternest,
   Couldst thou my thought divine.
 
There’s time enough for sorrow,
   When Life’s pale eve draws near;
The lark lilts thee Good Morrow
   Ring out thy laughter clear!
Altre opere di Joseph Skipsey...



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